TT13 Time of Death

by Mark Billingham

  Was the old man a judge or a kiddie-fiddler? Maybe both. The way she saw it, there were far too many child abusers getting sent down for less time than somebody who’d nicked a shirt during a riot.

  When Steve was led in, she felt her heart start to race.

  A thrill, for those first few seconds, same as that first time she’d seen him. Her and a girlfriend on the piss in that pub in Dorden, him and his mate buying them drinks all night, giving it all the chat. He was funny and full of himself, his shirt was open a long way down, and he was just what she needed.

  Today, he was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt with a bib over it. Red for the vulnerable prisoners. He looked even thinner than he had done in court, and paler. His hair was all over the shop.

  He sat down and smiled and said, ‘Hello, gorgeous.’

  When she’d had that conversation with Helen about what it would be like, this was the moment that Linda had been imagining. Hands reaching across the table, squeezing and stroking.

  It was lucky for him that the rules prevented it. She could have happily reached across and taken one of his eyes out.

  ‘How are the kids?’ he said.

  ‘They’re OK.’

  He nodded. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about the other day, I don’t know what I was thinking. They told me you came down to the hospital.’

  Linda noticed the frayed edge of the bandage poking from the sleeve of his sweatshirt. ‘You must have been feeling awful,’ she said.

  ‘I was all over the place,’ he said. ‘You’ve no idea what it’s like in here.’

  ‘Bad, is it?’

  ‘Worse than I imagined. Worst bit is missing you and the kids, you know?’

  ‘I know.’

  He sat back. ‘Sorry, love. You didn’t come here to listen to me moaning.’ He smiled; same smile as that night at the pub in Dorden. They reckon when a woman goes for a night out she’s usually got a friend who’s not quite as attractive as she is. But it’s obviously rubbish, because me and my mate have been staring at you two all night and we can’t decide which one of you is the tastiest. ‘Glad you did come though. Couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about it.’

  ‘Tell me about the girl,’ Linda said.

  It was hard to read his expression. Shock, anger, and, by the time he finally spoke, something that looked like genuine disappointment. ‘Oh for Christ’s sake, I thought at least you’d believe I didn’t do anything. How could you think I’d done those things? You know me better than anyone.’

  ‘I don’t mean the girl they think you killed. I mean the girl I know you’ve been shagging. The sixteen-year-old girl?’ She watched his face change again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and wondered where his chat was now. He blinked quickly and she could almost hear his mind working as he struggled to find whatever words might help him. ‘It’s why you couldn’t look at me in court, isn’t it? If that’s what guilty looks like, you’d better try and avoid it next time you’re standing in the dock.’

  ‘I met her a few times,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’ She leaned forward, just enough to remind him what she was capable of, ‘no touching’ rule or not. ‘Don’t even try to lie to me.’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘So, what exactly was it you were thinking, those times you were “meeting” her brains out?’

  ‘Please, love—’

  ‘Same thing you were thinking the last time, or the time before that? Not that they were quite as young as this one, were they? Not still doing homework, as far as I can remember. Were you thinking: Look at me, I’ve still got it? Sad old twat who normally has to sit and toss himself off in front of the computer and look what I can still pull? Were you thinking how great you were, was it making you feel like you were twenty-one again? Looking up at some kid bouncing up and down on top of you and thinking, how great is that arse and look at those tits and thinking how much nicer they were than what you had at home? What you were stuck with?’ She shook her head and stared for a few moments, enjoying it. ‘No, definitely not that. Because the only thing I’m certain about is that you were not thinking about me. While you were lying and sneaking off and shagging that little slag, you did not spend one second thinking about me or about my kids.’

  She leaned back again, looked around. The prison officer by the vending machine dropped his eyes quickly back to his magazine. The woman visiting the younger of the other prisoners turned back to him.

  ‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ Steve said.

  Linda was thinking much the same thing. She could, for example, tell her husband that the young girl they had been discussing was determined to give him an alibi. She could mention that a pair of high-ranking police officers from London believed he was innocent, that they and a forensic expert were working hard to prove it.

  For the time being though, she decided to keep those things to herself.

  FIFTY-NINE

  They didn’t even get as far as Cornish’s office. After ten minutes making small talk to a desk officer, he came down to greet them, showed them through to what was basically a waiting room just off the main reception area. He seemed cheerful enough, puffing happily on his e-cigarette as he talked, like he was happy to be taking a break from proper police work.

  Thorne said, ‘You saw Aurora Harley this morning.’

  ‘Yeah, she told me she’d spoken to you.’ Cornish looked at his watch. It was just after eleven thirty. ‘You don’t waste a lot of time, do you?’

  ‘She said you didn’t take her seriously.’

  Cornish shook his head. ‘Not true. Kids like to exaggerate, don’t they?’ He was sitting on a plastic chair. He hooked a second one with his boot and pulled it into line so that he could put his feet up. ‘Look, I did exactly what anyone else would have done. What you would have done, I’m sure. The girl was interviewed, a statement was taken and we’re in the process of passing everything on to the CPS, but in all honesty it’s not like we’re holding the front page. I can’t see anything she told us changing the focus of this investigation or of the forthcoming prosecution.’ He took another hit of his e-cig, hummed with pleasure as the tip glowed blue. ‘You know you can get these in different flavours, right?’ He held it up. ‘This is cappuccino. You get a fag and a cup of coffee at the same time.’

  ‘Why doesn’t it change anything?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What she told you.’

  ‘She was all over the place for a start,’ Cornish said. ‘She couldn’t give us any real details. She couldn’t remember what was on TV in the pub that night, couldn’t even remember the name of the pub.’

  ‘I was in some pub a couple of days ago,’ Thorne said. ‘Had lunch there. Couldn’t tell you what the place was called, but I’m sure you’re not going to call me a liar.’

  ‘Listen, I’m perfectly willing to believe that Bates was giving her one, but if that’s the case, she’d say anything to get him off, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe she would.’

  ‘You telling me you’ve never questioned an alibi from a loved one? Most of the time they’re no better than prison confessions.’

  ‘So why didn’t she come forward straight away?’

  ‘God knows.’ He smiled, tapped the end of his e-cig against his teeth. ‘Maybe she was busy with exams or something.’

  ‘I reckon it took her that long to pluck up the courage,’ Thorne said. ‘It took a lot of guts.’

  ‘And I’m grateful that she did come forward.’

  Thorne looked at him.

  ‘I mean, it confirms that Bates likes teenage girls, doesn’t it? If anything, it makes the case against him stronger, so I suppose I should thank you for pointing her in our direction.’

  Hendricks had said nothing, sitting there looking at his phone as though he was paying little attention to the exchange. Now, he said, ‘Just so you know, when we prove that Bates didn’t kill Jessica Toms, that he didn�
�t abduct anybody, we won’t be making a song and dance about it. When your mug is all over the front of the paper because you’re the copper that got it wrong and there are lawsuits flying about faster than shit off a shiny shovel, we won’t bother marching back in here to tell you what a bollocks you made of the whole investigation. Fair enough?’ He smiled. ‘We’re happy to leave that to somebody else.’

  Cornish blinked. He had clearly felt on safe ground jousting with Thorne, but something about Hendricks – his manner perhaps, the threat in his appearance and in that nice friendly smile – seemed to disconcert him for a moment or two. ‘Prove it, how?’ he said.

  ‘Whoever killed Jessica Toms disguised the time of death,’ Hendricks said. ‘He planted insects on the body to make it look like she’d died a lot earlier than she actually had. Like Bates had killed her as soon as she’d been taken.’ Cornish raised a hand, trying to get in, but Hendricks wouldn’t let him. ‘It’s why the body was partially burned. Just enough to open the skin, give the bugs something to feed on. All so it would look like Bates, so it’ll still look like it was Bates when he kills the next girl.’

  Cornish shook his head, as though this was one piece of foolishness he simply could not allow to stand. ‘Poppy Johnston is dead, we all know that.’

  ‘So, why haven’t you found her?’ Thorne did not bother waiting for an answer. ‘Same reason you didn’t find Jessica, not until the man who killed her wanted you to. Because she isn’t there to find. Not yet.’

  ‘And when she is, you’re telling me she’ll be crawling with these bugs that actually came from somewhere else.’

  ‘We might be able to prevent that,’ Thorne said. ‘If you’d stop being a smartarse and listen to what we’re telling you.’

  Cornish took a drag, hissed out coffee-flavoured smoke and thought about it. ‘Where did all these incriminating insects come from?’

  Thorne looked at Hendricks. Do you want to tell him, or shall I?

  Hendricks told him.

  ‘Christ, I think I’ve heard it all now.’

  ‘So, easy enough to prove, see? Just a question of extracting some nice porky DNA from one of those bugs.’

  ‘Right, and who’s doing that for you?’

  ‘I’ve got one or two contacts,’ Hendricks said. He and Thorne had talked about this on the way there. If Cornish went for it, they would happily hand everything over, make the job Liam Southworth was doing every bit as official as he wanted. If not, they weren’t going to volunteer anything, let Cornish think Hendricks had a fully equipped mobile DNA unit parked in a lay-by somewhere.

  Cornish tucked his e-cigarette into his top pocket and swung his legs to the floor. ‘Let’s go mad for a minute, shall we, and assume all that stuff happened … the dead pig and the bugs being planted on Jessica Toms’ body. I still don’t see why it couldn’t have been Bates that did it?’

  ‘What?’ Thorne had been unprepared for this.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Give me one good reason why he’d do any of that.’

  ‘I don’t need one,’ Cornish said. ‘We’re talking about someone who abducts young girls, does whatever horrible things he does, then murders them and dumps their bodies. These are not ordinary people, Tom, you know that as well as I do.’ He let that hang for a few seconds while he got to his feet. ‘They don’t do things for “good” reasons.’

  ‘Even you must know how lame that sounds,’ Thorne said. ‘How convenient.’

  Cornish shook his head. ‘They’re twisted, simple as that, and the day I start to understand why they do anything is the day I start looking for another job.’

  Now Thorne stood up too, and walked across to put himself between Cornish and the door.

  ‘Don’t be a knob.’ Cornish sighed, fastened his jacket and looked from Thorne to Hendricks. ‘First you show up, then your tattooed mate … honestly, it’s like the bloody circus has come to town. Clowns and freaks. Round here, we’re just ordinary coppers doing a decent job and whatever you think, that means trying to prove someone’s innocent every bit as much as trying to prove they’re guilty. Like it or not, this time we got the job done.’ He stared at Thorne, waiting for him to move.

  Hendricks walked quickly across and dropped a hand on to Thorne’s shoulder, all smiles. ‘Now, I’ve got thick skin,’ he said. ‘Thick, freaky skin, so I don’t take offence easily. But my mate here … well, why don’t I just move him out of your way, before he kicks your teeth in with those big clown shoes of his?’

  Thorne stepped aside and watched Cornish move quickly past him towards the door. ‘You didn’t do the job properly,’ he said.

  Hendricks asked Thorne to drive him back to Polesford. He was going to collect his stuff from Paula’s, pick up his car, then drive straight back to Liam Southworth’s place in Warwick.

  ‘He gave me a key,’ Hendricks told him, beaming. ‘I mean, it’s probably best if I’m on the spot when his mate in the lab comes through for us. Plus, he’s got a massive flat-screen TV …’

  In slow traffic on the M42, Thorne said, ‘Do you think we rattled him?’

  ‘Cornish? Oh, yeah, I reckon so.’ Hendricks looked across, saw Thorne’s expression. ‘You wanted him to give us the bum’s rush, didn’t you?’

  ‘We’ve made a better job of it than he has so far, haven’t we?’

  ‘Not bad for a clown and a freak,’ Hendricks said.

  ‘A freak with thick skin, remember.’ Thorne glanced at his friend and smiled. He knew better than anyone how thin that elaborately decorated skin really was. ‘How badly did you want to punch him?’

  ‘I wanted to shove that stupid pretend fag up his arse.’ Hendricks turned to look out of the window for a few seconds, then put his head back. ‘That stuff about people who were not “ordinary” and you knowing that as well as he did. That was about Bardsey, wasn’t it?’

  ‘He brought it up first time I met him,’ Thorne said. ‘Wanted me to know he’d done his homework.’

  Hendricks nodded. Said, ‘That thing’s going up his arse sideways.’

  Thorne grinned, but he had no way of knowing what DI Tim Cornish would do with the information they’d given him, how long he would wait before trying to take over or shut them down. Thorne could only hope they got what they needed in the time they had left.

  Hendricks began to sing quietly, murdering ‘Send In The Clowns’ as they inched forward and waited for the traffic to clear.

  SIXTY

  ‘The kids wrote letters to take in to him,’ Linda said. ‘Spent ages on them.’

  ‘What did you do with them?’

  ‘They’re in a drawer in the bedroom.’

  They were sitting in the small back garden in overcoats. Linda had made coffee, though Helen had smelled the wine on her breath when she’d arrived. Charli and Danny were upstairs, while the coppers on the afternoon shift mooched about or watched TV in the living room. Carson was in the kitchen, trying not to make it obvious that she was keeping an eye on them through the window. She had not been at the house for a couple of days and Helen had begun to wonder if something had happened in the wake of the incident at Danny’s school. She was friendlier than she had been before, presumably because she was worried that if there were to be any complaint about what had happened to Danny, it was likely to come from Helen.

  ‘I’m not going to say that him lying was the worst part of it.’ Linda pulled a biscuit from the packet on the table and dunked it. ‘I mean, obviously him screwing around was way worse, but denying it didn’t help. Like he could be unfaithful and play me for a mug.’

  ‘What about once he’d admitted it?’

  ‘I didn’t really give him chance to say anything.’ She tried to look pleased with herself. ‘Just told him what I thought of him.’

  ‘Which is?’ Helen looked at her.

  ‘That he’s ruined my life and ruined the kids’ lives and I can’t forgive him for that.’ She saw Helen’s reaction. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s happened
before though, hasn’t it?’

  Linda picked up her mug and cradled it. ‘Yeah, he’s got drunk, been stupid a few times.’

  ‘And you stayed together.’

  ‘Not the same,’ Linda said.

  ‘So why is this time any different?’

  ‘She’s sixteen.’ Linda shook her head, as though her reasoning were obvious. ‘Jesus, how do you think that makes me feel?’

  ‘Like shit,’ Helen said.

  ‘Like I’m no good for anything. Like in a few years when the kids have both buggered off, and I haven’t got them and I haven’t got a bloke, there’ll be no point to me at all.’ She stared at the fence. ‘Sixteen, for God’s sake. Yeah, he wants something younger … firmer, it’s not like I don’t understand that, but when she’s still at school you start to wonder about things you really don’t want to be thinking about, you know?’

  Helen nodded.

  ‘I hate him for that as much as for doing it in the first place. For those … thoughts.’

  Helen nodded again, and smiled to suggest that what she was about to say was not altogether serious. ‘So, you won’t be in any rush to take him back this time, then.’

  Linda seemed confused. ‘Not really an issue, is it? He’s going to prison.’

  ‘Right,’ Helen said. ‘But I mean, if he wasn’t.’

  ‘I don’t need to think about it, do I?’

  Helen glanced back towards the kitchen and saw Sophie Carson turn casually away, as though she’d been checking on the weather. She looked back to Linda. ‘Are you going to tell the kids?’

  ‘About him and that little slag?’ She shook her head. ‘What’s the point in upsetting them? He goes down and they’re probably never going to see him again, are they? I mean, yeah, they might ask about going to visit, but I’ll just tell them he doesn’t want them to come.’